Poisoned Love
by All I Ask Of You
Summary: Phantom of the Opera: ChristineErik...Can he ever truly depend on his true love to stay? Emotionallypacked. I could use some constructive? criticism.
1. Point of No Return

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera nor any piece of it, much to my regret…if I did, it certainly would have ended differently. I tip my hat to Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber for creating a musical masterpiece and Mr. Gaston Leroux for imagining up one of the greatest love stories of all time.

Prologue: The Point of No Return…

Christine gazed back over her shoulder at Erik as Raoul navigated the gondola through the canals of the lair. Her heart longed for him, yet her mind could not accept the enormity of his love. Her spirit shattered at his devastated face. She was sure that she'd made the right choice, despite her wild and sensual aching. Turning her face to Raoul's shoulder, she cried for him silently.

"I don't know how you can feel remorse, or despair for that monster," Raoul said gruffly, and Christine stepped as far away from him as the small craft's confinement would allow.

"He is no monster. He is forced to live in the catacombs of this opera house, watching the outside world from his dank shadows. It's a fate awful enough to drive any man insane," she protested. He laughed harshly.

"Exactly, dear Christine. He is insane. You would not be safe with him. You would become a monster just as he has. What life could he give you?" The flickering light exuding from the torches mounted upon the dreary stone walls played tricks upon Raoul's face, making him look more disfigured than Erik could ever dream of being. She stared in horror upon the man that she had chosen, and felt regret and fear wash over her in cold, sickly waves. Bile rose in her throat and she lowered herself onto the bench that rested at the bow of the small boat. She glanced back once more to see that the curves of the channel had blocked Erik from her pining gaze. Inside her head, emotions raged in a furious battle. She could demand to be returned to her angel, but that would surely send Raoul into an uncontrollable fury. In Erik's destroyed state, he was no match for Raoul's temper. She could by no means endanger his life in such a way. Raoul would never stop in his pursuit of her. He would be certain that Erik had cast some deviant spell over her, forcing her to give in to his demands. It was safest if she was concrete in her decision. She would sacrifice her love and her life for her phantom, and would live out her days with the Vicomte if such was required of her to ensure Erik's security. Her heart sunk slowly into the pits of her stomach as she pondered her idiocy. She'd been concerned for Raoul at the time, frenzied with a need to protect him, but in hindsight, it was very obvious that of the two men, Raoul was the most dangerous. Upon kissing Erik, her heart had soared beyond even what his voice had coaxed from her. She had felt tiny explosions occurring all through-out her body, and their second embrace was even more earth-shaking. She'd felt her knees go weak, and had sensed no repulsion upon pressing a hand to his warped skin. In fact, his deformity had disappeared to her completely, and she had never seen a more beautiful face than the one that wept above her.

Christine was broken from her stupor at the sound of an approaching mob. Fear clutched her heart as she heard the shouted words they chanted.

"Track down this murderer, he must be found." She'd heard them before, but never guessed they could find the lair. Yet it seemed they grew closer. She turned and clutched the pant leg of Raoul's trousers.

"They'll find him," she exclaimed. "When they do, they'll kill him!" Raoul bit back a bitter response as he gazed down into his true love's haunted face. No matter the torture he'd endured at the hands of the infamous Phantom of the Opera, he could not bring himself to say another harsh word about the man that Christine obviously cared deeply for. He swallowed his rage and jealousy and focused instead on his love for the girl.

"We can't stop them. I'm sorry, Christine, but they want blood; his blood." Christine was chilled at his words but felt hope at his tone. Gone was the man who'd frightened her earlier with his coldness. In his place was the Raoul she'd known as a child, the caring, loving Raoul that had invoked within her a warm and steady affection and fondness. "He _is_ the Phantom of the Opera…I'm sure he'll escape as always," he offered as a condolence. Christine doubted this, for she feared that in his desolation he would be too weak to flee. However, Raoul was right. They couldn't stop the horde; they were best to just get out and hope for his flight. Still, even having accepted this voice of reason, Christine shuddered inside, and a single glassy tear slipped down her porcelain cheek.

Erik stepped through the shattered mirror, thrown into darkness as the curtain slid back into place, hiding the portal. His tears were hot and fast in coming, falling from his chin like rain. His fury had cooled and was replaced by an acidic sickness, a waning of his spirit and mind. He'd lost all resilience as he watched Christine and her lover disappear around the corner and drift away from his life for good. He cursed himself and all his anger. He cursed the mistakes that had resulted from that anger and the reaction they had caused in the eyes of his beloved. He remembered painfully the fear and revulsion in her gaze when he had brought her down into his darkness for the second time. Instead of the love and adoration of before, she'd seen upon his deformed face only rage and resentment. He was so pained, so utterly destroyed at her final betrayal that he had launched into a frenzy of madness. He'd allowed his wrath to overcome him, and he'd taken it out on the only human being that Christine had ever seemed to care for aside from her father. Erik's hate for Raoul was overwhelming, but he'd tried so hard to control it, for Christine's sake. Not surprisingly, he'd lost that inner battle.

Erik walked blindly through the passage he'd traveled so many times before. He knew the walls and the turns by heart; he had, in fact, assisted in the design. He allowed himself to sink completely into thoughts of desolation. His only love, his only reason for living was gone, never to return to him. No rejection preceding this, not even his own mother's disgust had broken him as completely as that kiss…a moments hope and then the cataclysmic truth.

"Christine!" His anguished cry resounded off of the walls of the stone tunnel. He heard his voice echoed back to him in weak ripples and fell to his knees. His only thought was escaping the opera house for however long it took for his pain to waver. Perhaps he would return, in a month or a year. He wasn't thinking of specifics. He was driven by an animalistic urge to free himself of his suffocating trap.

Rising to his feet with new determination and a plan, he finished the trek through darkness. Each step was a jolt of heart-wrenching pain, but he forced his mind to concoct a plan, a new mission for life. He forced himself to think solely of beginning anew. He avoided the inevitability, the certainty that he would never recover from his loss of Christine and he was undoubtedly sure that he would never love again. However, as he'd learned, hate was much more effective than love. Hate made you strong, revenge made you stronger. As he felt his heart harden, he stepped from the portal into the light and darted from the Opera Populaire into the cold Parisian night.


	2. Return To Ruins

Chapter one: Return to Ruins

The de Changny carriage pulled to a halt before the ashy shell of the once-fabulous Opera Populaire. Christine twisted her engagement ring nervously about her finger and stared at the vast structure apprehensively. It loomed over the city streets like a forlorn god, gazing out through blank eyes. Her wedding day was growing near; the ceremony would be performed before the end of the week. Raoul had wanted to get married immediately but Christine had continued to put him off, claiming to need to rebuild her strength for such a stressful occasion. In truth, her heart was still tied to Erik. She knew she must return to the opera house once more before the marriage. She'd stolen away in the dead of night, employing the family chauffer to take her to the site of her past grandeur and great triumph. She needed to lay the love she hosted for her tutor to rest, finally.

Stepping from the stagecoach, she stood before the grand edifice like a lamb before the slaughter. Its enormity made her feel insignificant and small. Closing her eyes, she was barraged with images from the Populaire's glory days; her debut to the stage, the crowd on its feet, Raoul in the box above her head, watching her with warm pride in his eyes. Then, she thought of his eyes during the Phantom's opera—Don Juan Triumphant. She thought of his welling tears as she and Erik performed their duet in Point of No Return. He could sense it, her undeniable longing for the Angel of Music. There was no acting, no pretending as their voices had reached crescendo in perfect unison. When Erik touched her, it wasn't the stiff, professional touch shared between two artists; it was the purely sensual caress of love. As Erik had sung to her, his voice was like that of an adoring child, mesmerized and worshipping. He'd asked her to save him and she had condemned him instead. All she'd wanted was to be taken with him, if only for a night, back down into his loving darkness. She was so conflicted, torn into a million pieces. She hated him for the deaths he had caused, but could understand that he'd done it only to protect himself from further pain. She feared him but he was right when he'd said that fear could turn to love. She had seen all of his vulnerability, the small child that lurked behind the horrible disfigurement, and loved him for everything he'd never been able to be. She knew that he would always guard her…but she couldn't protect him and ultimately she'd had to flee his sinister embrace forever so that he could be strong enough to continue to protect himself. She feared that she made him susceptible to attack, unable to defend himself. She was scared senseless that if she were to stay, he would no longer be able to care for either of them.

"Mlle. Daae, I'm not sure it's safe," the coachman said, interrupting her regretful reminiscing. She turned to him and smiled faintly.

"M. de Collier, I guarantee you, I will be perfectly safe. I know this opera house by heart. I won't be hurt," she assured him. He shook his hand, clutching his hat before him in both hands.

"I don't mean that mademoiselle, I was referring to the Opera Ghost," he said, almost timidly. She stared at him, amazed that he would ever think to question Erik's integrity. But she did have to admit; from his reputation…well anyone would think that he was vicious and violent. She laughed to herself.

"I grew up in this opera house, monsieur. I never once encountered the man of which you speak." The look on M. de Collier's face was doubtful.

"What about the man on the stage that night that the place burned down; the man with the deformed face…the one who cut down the chandelier?" She grimaced, her mind working to conjure an explanation. She just wanted to get inside.

"That was a crazed stagehand, monsieur, nothing more." Although the man did not seem to believe her, he ceased his protests and went back to sit on the bench at the front of the coach.

"Monsieur, you are welcome to go back to the estate. There are coaches for hire all about the streets, and I brought fare." Again, he looked doubtful, but had found that it was pointless to argue with her, so he snapped the reigns and headed down the street with the horses. Christine watched him disappear around an unlighted building before turning once more to the Opera Populaire. She inhaled deeply before beginning the trek up the stairs to the front door. She'd sent a message ahead, requesting a key to be hidden so that she could gain easy entrance. She checked behind the shrubs and found a small box, and within it a key. Smiling in triumph, she slid the key into the lock, looking over her shoulder conspiratorially. The enormous, decorative door swung open with a rusty creak and she stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her. The moon cast long squares of light across the once-lavish interior. She stood for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust and when they had, she gasped aloud at the surprisingly small amount of damage done to the foyer. Stepping farther into the room, she noticed that most of the ornamentation had been repaired, rather than having not suffered a blow from the fire. As a matter of fact, most everything had been repaired. She frowned. She would have known if there were plans to renovate the opera house. Raoul would have been told and he would have informed her. He knew how important the Populaire was to her. She shook her head, and let out a small sigh. Looking back to the door, she saw a candelabra and a matchbook seemingly awaiting her arrival. She tried to picture the opera house stagehands and wondered which had left her such a simply considerate tool. She certainly could not have rummaged through the theatre without a candle. Smiling, she struck the match upon the book and lit the three candles within the candlestick. Lifting the light up beside her face, she walked up the grand staircase. She could almost hear the great arias and symphony again. They seemed to echo off of the sculptures and walls, filling her mind with memories. Then the melody began to form words as she continued to climb the steps. She stopped at the doorway that led to the theatre room. She could hear the tune perfectly now, could make out the words and the voice. She knew that voice. She was frozen in place, her eyes open wide and staring down onto the stage. Erik stood in the center, gazing out at the ruins, his voice swelling sweetly with regret.

"Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime. Lead me save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too." Christine felt her knees buckle with pain as she watched him, and was flooded with scenes from that fateful night. Her heart shattered all over again at the anguish in his tone and the lost look in his eyes. He began to hum wordlessly, and she braced a hand on the doorjamb, trying to catch her breath. The flames she held flickered and she turned away from the theater, but was unable to flee. His voice still captivated her as though he had her chained and leashed. She could not simply walk away. She stared down at the dim vestibule and willed herself to move. Her mind was in such a panicked frenzy, she didn't even hear as the voice grew closer. She couldn't have noticed; her senses were completely flooded with the sound. It was at her ear, and in the catacombs and on the roof; and then, it was right behind her. It stopped abruptly and her sanity began to claw at her. She could not will herself to turn around. If she had ever imagined she would see Erik when she came here, she never would have come. She was sure that he'd escaped, never to return. The opera house had been searched entirely, and he had not been found, though his lair had. She closed her eyes tightly.

"So you still keep your hand at the level of your eyes, I see," Erik said with biting sarcasm, referring to the way she held the candelabra. She ached from the bitterness in his voice, though she did not deny that she deserved that and so much more. Slowly, she turned to face him.


	3. Down Once More

Chapter Two: Down Once More

As Christine turned to him, Erik found it hard to breathe. He'd found it hard to breathe the moment he saw her, standing in the door way, frozen. The sight of her had stilled his voice and brought back all of the hurt that had almost begun to heal. His stinging words hung in the air between them as she lifted her eyes to his. He was incredulous to see all of his pain and love and yearning mirrored in her gaze.

"What are you doing here?" he asked harshly, fighting to keep his voice at a steady level. His private mêlée was enormous—he could either show her the love that had captivated him once again, or he could override it with bitter anger. Experience with Christine had assured him that anger was much safer, so he stared upon her with a blank face, fighting to keep his emotions in check. As he moved his eyes from hers to study her countenance, he swallowed a cry of concern. She was ghastly pale and her hair hung limply around her face and shoulders. His hand rose involuntarily to caress her cheek, but he caught himself and reached for the candelabra instead.

"Let me hold it. You look like you're about to faint." She continued to stare at him, but relinquished the torch. He sighed. "Why are you here?" he repeated. She opened her mouth and his body betrayed him once again as his eyes immediately went to her lips and began to play memories in his head of their shared embrace. He stifled a curse and turned from her, heading back to the theatre.

Christine followed him silently, watching him with pained eyes. She feared that if she were to speak, she would say things she could never retract, and she was so frightened that she would give him false hope—that he would think she was here to stay. She knew that if she were to speak, she would proclaim love never-ending for him, would speak from her heart instead of her mind and therefore endanger him once again. Countless words and emotions warred within her psyche. She wanted to reach for him, pull him to her and kiss him once more. She longed to remove the mask that he wore, the leather barricade between her soul and his own. She ached to throw caution to the wind and to hell with it; to let the love inside of her out, finally and for good. Deep in her stomach she felt what she feared most; that perhaps she had come here expecting him, and had so desperately fought against the hope that she had fully convinced herself that she had only revisited the opera house to lay her past to rest. She knew though; she was well aware of the truth. She'd come for Erik. She couldn't live without his love.

She nearly collided with his chest, unaware that he had come to a stop and turned to her. She stumbled back and lost her footing and instinctively he grabbed for her, pulling her to him to steady her. His heart leapt at his ribcage, and his eyes misted over with the feel of her body pressed to his. She stared up at his face and he gazed over her head, urgently fighting to regain his piece of mind. He ordered himself to set her away from him, but he couldn't even seem to acknowledge his rational thoughts. All he knew, all he felt was her; and then her hand was upon his face, and his mask was on the floor. He tensed, but simply lowered his head and released her.

"Why do you do this to me, Christine?" he whispered and she cupped his face in her hands, all reason, all sensibility lost. His eyes met hers and the love that rushed forth to greet him was so insurmountable that he lost his breath once more. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He was astonished at his lack of shame, his lack of anger upon being exposed. He was used to it by now, he supposed, and her eyes upon his face were not condemning or hateful, but instead warm and loving. Her fingers stroked his malformed skin with gentle compassion, and he felt…normal; as though his face was smooth and unblemished, and he was desirable in her eyes. Meeting her adoring stare, he realized that he was. She desired him, she loved him; she'd seen past all his hate and fear and his horrid appearance into his soul. He looked down, inhaling sharply.

"Erik, I belong to you. I've feared you for so long but loved you so much longer. I couldn't understand before, what it all meant, these feelings of mine and this undeniable hunger for you; but I know now. I know that you are all that matters. You are my truth, my angel and my guardian." Christine didn't even know she spoke the words aloud until she saw his face transform from bitter to tender. His eyes clouded as they met hers abruptly, as though he wasn't sure he was hearing the words. A tear slid slowly down his cavernous cheek and he pulled her to him. Their bodies matched exactly and she marveled at the way they fit, like a puzzle. She'd never noticed before just how perfectly they pieced together, and was amazed at the oversight. His satin-gloved hand wove its way through her hair, and a shimmer of silk brushed her cheek. They were a blur of black and white, the rose of her skin and the brilliant auburn of her hair. They mixed together in lace and silk, and the noises they made against each other—each shift of their bodies and the hum of their breath—it was like a symphony of their own, exuding a brilliant melody of love.

"Erik." He shuddered at the way her mouth formed his name, the way the "r" rolled upon her tongue before slipping through her lips. "Erik, I want to go home," she said. He was shattered at the gentleness of it, that she would call his home her own. Taking her hand in his, he led her, down once more into their chamber of secret and forbidden longing. Slipping behind a statue and into a small doorway, he held the candelabra before them as they descended the dank stairs into the vaults of the opera house.

It was like a dream—misty and unreal; candlelit and ponderous. Christine was trance-like, following after Erik and relying on him to lead the way, for she would have become utterly lost on her own, so deep in though she was. The tunnel was exactly as she'd remembered it, and the gondola waited at the jaws of the canal. It was all so familiar, the decent, the floating sensation, the water and the flickering flames. Erik hummed to her and as they navigated through the channel. Christine picked up the tune and matched him in the soaring wordless song. The stone reverberated, throwing their harmony back at them, and again Christine was amazed at their seamlessness, the way they flowed together like ribbon and steel. The gondola made berth at the shore of Erik's island of darkness, and she rose, staring upon the scene of her greatest conflict. She flinched as she was bombarded with memories for what seemed to be the hundredth time since entering the Opera Populaire in its ruined state.

"Free her, do what you like only free her. Have you no pity?" The words assaulted her, Raoul's voice penetrating her reverie. The recollection made her sick, and her stomach heaved. Erik watched her with remorse, well aware of the flashbacks that battered her. He relived the scene almost every day, but it had been less frequent in coming as of late. However, with her here, he was overwhelmed once more with the bitter regret and misery of that night. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he was paralyzed by his guilt at causing her such pain. He stared at her face in the dim light, as tiny stars dripped from her eyes and fell into the water of the canal. They made almost unnoticeable ripples. His heart shuddered in his chest.

"Christine," he groaned and his voice was a cracked and hollow cry of pain. "Christine, forgive me." She looked at him, her eyes shining with disbelief.

"Forgive you? Erik, I love you." She hadn't meant to say the words. She flinched as they escaped her lips. With a nearly silent swish, Erik was beside her. He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up so that he could look into her eyes. He looked young and vulnerable, but exuberant.

"Oh, Christine…" he exclaimed quietly. His chest had swelled, breaking open and allowing his love to flow out and consume him open hearing her words. Her cheeks were bright with blush, and she furrowed her brow.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I shouldn't have said…" He silenced her with a kiss. She went weak in his arms and he gathered her up, lifting her like a child, never moving his lips from hers. He spun her around, and she parted her lips to invite him farther inside of her. He went weak as well, and fought to hold himself steady as he deepened the embrace. She moaned against his mouth, a musical sound of pure passion. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and looked into her eyes. Then, he carried her carefully to the bedchamber, laying her among the scarlet linens. The red was a stark contrast to her ivory skin and he marveled at the disparity, struck motionless by her beauty. Then, she stretched out her hands to him, and he gave a cry of abandonment, lying beside her. She slid her arms around his shoulders and touched her lips to his tentatively. He was heartbroken by her innocent sweetness, but also grounded by it.

"Christine, my love, if we continue this way, I may commit an unforgivable crime against your innocence," he said through gritted teeth, chastising himself for being so forward with such a naive child. She laid a hand upon his cheek and smiled.

"Erik, I want this, I do. There is no one I would rather be with. I've been waiting so long," she murmured as she kissed him once more. This time, he did not protest, but took her into his arms instead, pressing her against him as closely as possible. He pressed her onto her back and laid himself over her, staring into her eyes. She clung to his shoulders and parted her lips, gazing up at him. He couldn't seem to drink in enough of her beauty. It flooded his senses in their entirety. He was sure it was but a dream, although the touch of her skin against his was almost more than he could bear, which insisted that this was reality, and his greatest unrealized dream was to soon come true.

He leaned down, kissing her shoulder. "Love me, that's all I ask of you," he sang quietly, almost in a whisper, and she pulled at him, trying to bring him closer. She was frantic with the need to crawl inside of him, until there was no room left to breathe and they had become one. He sat up and she looked at him with wild eyes. He pulled her into a sitting position as well, and slowly unlaced her dress, slipping it off of her shoulders. She grew impatient with the tedious task of undressing, and assisted him in the removal of her clothing. He draped the dress and her underclothes at the foot of the bed and turned back to her. When he did, he went absolutely still, and his eyes welled with tears at the sight of her unhidden beauty. She stared at him in astonishment.

"Erik…" she gasped, shocked at the wet gathering in his eyes. "Erik, what is it?" she asked. He smiled, blinking the tears away. He pressed a hand to her hip.

"I am overwhelmed with your beauty, Christine. I have always known you were stunning, but to see you like this…it is heart wrenching." She smiled.

"Oh, Erik," she said, reaching for him once again. He leaned down to kiss her, and trembled as their lips touched. She tore at his clothing, fueled by a refreshed need for him that suffocated her. Without moving from her, he slid out of his shirt and tossed it aside. She leaned back and looked at his golden skin that seemed to glow from within when caressed by the candlelight. She ran her fingertips over the muscles in his chest, and then slid her arms around him and skimmed her hands up and down his back. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She lifted her lips up and pressed them to his chin, feeling him relax at her touch.

He seemed hesitant to remove his remaining clothing, and so she slid a hand down to their waistline. He tensed, but as she unbuttoned the first button, he let a small moan of anticipation escape from him. She quickly did away with the lingering garments, and then sat back to look at him as he had her. He was all sinew, satin draped deceivingly over steel. She bit her lip, and he looked away from her.

Erik squirmed under her gaze self-consciously. He was so unsure of himself, so certain of rejection. Yet, when he looked back at her, he was shocked to see the desire clouding her eyes. She ran a hand down his stomach and touched him apprehensively. Her sweetness ravaged him with lust. He pulled her down to him and then turned her over onto her back and lost himself inside her…


	4. What Dreams May Bring

Chapter Four: What Dreams May Bring

The room was thick around her as she awoke. She held tightly to her dream, more vivid than most, as the last strains of piano music floated through her mind. She loved her visits with him, in the dead of night with reality could halt and allow the restless psyche to present gifts of fantasy. She shivered, and scooted closer to Raoul, who despite her undying passion for Erik, she had grown to care for and perhaps even love. His body was warm against hers, and he slipped an arm around her waist.

Her eyes opened slowly at first, and then hurriedly as she realized that the man beside her was not her fiancé. He felt her start, and he shifted to look down at her.

"Erik!" she cried out with a gasp and then jerked away in shock, sitting quickly upright and gathering the bedclothes around her chest. He propped himself up on his elbow and furrowed his brow, bewilderment clouding his features.

"Oh, good God, I imagined it a dream," she proclaimed, shaking her head. "I did not dare to believe it could be true." Her voice softened and she stared upon him. "Oh, Erik."

He shifted uncomfortably. He felt the events of the previous night stretching between them like a taunt cord, waiting to break and whip back, slapping him in the face.

"I'm to be married in _three days_," she murmured to herself, her eyes feral. "They'll come after you," she said, looking up at him. He remained warily silent. "I have to go because if I were to remain…Raoul would be certain…well he would_ know_ that you'd seduced me into staying." Her voice floated in and out between hushed thought and exclamation. "He's probably out searching for me now." He could tell she was working herself up into frenzy, but could do nothing to stop it. He stood, clothing himself rather calmly and quickly, and left the bedroom. It took her a moment to realize he'd gone. She glanced all around her and then stood, forgetful of her state of undress, and walked into the main dwelling. He stood over a high round table, studying a large paper. She came up to him and he looked toward her. For a moment, he faltered, his eyes sweeping her skin. His heart lurched and his knees ached, but he returned his gaze to the paper.

"You certainly know the way out," he said stoically. He'd grown used to her leaving, and though he could not claim that he was numb to the pain, he had acquired a sense of immunity from the heartbreak.

"You understand that I _must _go," she said urgently. "It is not a choice of mine to make." He slammed his hand on the table and looked at her with seething impatience.

"You are a distinct being, capable of individual action and thought. It is your choice to come and go as you please and while I am glad of the company, I am exasperated by the childishness of it all." He had not meant the words, but could not bite them back. She looked away.

"Well, Erik, when one is in the company of a child, one must expect childishness." Her words were precise and cold. He felt the chill of them like a bite but ignored her, returning to his parchment. He was constructing blueprints of the work to be done to return his opera to its former grandeur. It was now the driving mission of his life, and he could force himself to believe that Christine would grow faint in his mind if his thoughts were on labor. He heard her footsteps slapping against the stone floor as she went back into the bedroom. Only then did he allow himself to sink into the small wooden chair. More than anything, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He had grown used to her absence, and her sudden arrival and just as sudden departure had unnerved him. His hands shook on the chair arms, and his mouth was dry. He felt as thought he'd caught some disease, and would surely die were he not allowed the cure. It was not his pride but his utter defenselessness that was allowing her to leave. He could not keep her if she did not wish to be kept—he'd attempted it before and experienced a failure he had no desire to repeat.

She returned to the open room, clothed and indignant. He stood, with his eyes upon her cagily. She neither spoke nor retreated as he walked to her. He touched his hand to her shoulder.

"If you must go, then by all means go, but not like this. Don't leave us this way when I am unsure I will ever see you again, unsure if I could ever fix the friendship that has been broken beneath the romance." His voice was tender with the unsteady beating of his heart. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.

"I miss the sincerity of you. There is none out there. Raoul…his life has become a masquerade." Erik's jaw tightened at the mention of her fiancé, but he remained silent. "What a fool pride has made of love," she said quietly. His grip on her tightened.

"So you love him." It was more a statement than a question. "Of course you love him. What I mean is…you love him enough to give him your life, and I could not deny such passion. I couldn't once, and again I find myself unable." He released her. "Go."

Tears gathered swiftly in her eyes. She didn't love Raoul, she never had. But once more she faced the dilemma of Erik's safety. It was becoming a familiar situation. This is why she stepped away. The same concern and adoration that had forced her to walk away once again faced her, and she responded the only way she knew how. She went.

The air grew dark around him as she turned to leave. He felt the tears close to racing down his cheeks as he watched her, candlelit, stepping into the gondola.

"You should take me, so that you can return in your boat when I've gone. Otherwise, it will be left at the opposite shore."

"I can easily retrieve it." She stared at the floor for a moment and then glanced back at him.

"Goodbye Erik." She pushed the boat into the deeper waters of the channel, and then set about rowing away into the stony tunnel. It was the second time he'd watched her float away, knowing she would not return. He turned away before the craft had completely disappeared around the bend. He could not contrast this pain with the pain before—there was no comparison. His skin still smelled of her. There was no anger within him, only loss. He leaned against a stone column and closed his eyes, convincing himself that these wounds too would heal. He did not, however, believe the decree, for how can a heart heal when it has ceased to exist?


End file.
